


lantern riddles

by queerli



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Character(s) of Color, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Episode: s02e01 The Avatar State, Family, Fire Nation (Avatar), Fire Nation Royal Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Holidays, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Mental Health Issues, Worldbuilding, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21985216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerli/pseuds/queerli
Summary: Uncle found him in a secluded corner of the courtyard, dressed in the loose pink robes of the resort with a straw hat pulled low over his face.After the North Pole, Zuko relearns a New Year’s tradition.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 85
Kudos: 301
Collections: avatar tingz





	1. lantern riddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory holiday fic!
> 
> Avatar: The Last Airbender meant A Lot to me as an Asian person who never saw people like me represented before in western media. In honour of that, here's a little fic about Zuko & Iroh celebrating Chinese holiday traditions (since my own heritage is Chinese; but I'd like to make it clear that there are way more cultures than just China's that are represented in ATLA, and this fic is by no means representative of all Asian cultures and experiences). I noticed a few fics already addressed the winter solstice, so I decided to go a bit later in the season and talk about the Lunar New Year.
> 
> Definitions of Chinese terms can be found in the end notes. I hope you enjoy!

**元宵節**  
_(yuánxiāo jié)_

_**n.** a festival celebrated on the fifteenth day of the first month.  
also known as the **lantern festival** , it marks the final day of traditional new year's celebrations._

* * *

Uncle found him in a secluded corner of the courtyard, dressed in the loose pink robes of the resort with a straw hat pulled low over his face. 

The cobblestones were bathed in Agni’s warmth, a far cry from the smothering frost that had nearly killed them both mere days ago. All around him, cherry blossoms fell by the treefuls to the ground like a scene from some particularly sappy romance play. It was disgustingly pleasant, and did nothing to improve the ugly tangle of emotions churning in Zuko’s stomach.

In front of him, the distinctive shuffle of Uncle’s bath slippers slowed and came to a halt. “Prince Zuko.”

“I _said_ I’m not hungry, Uncle,” Zuko snapped. His stomach lurched nauseatingly as though to punctuate his point.

Uncle didn’t push it, nor did he turn to leave. He just sat down beside Zuko, as though this were simply another day on the deck of the _Wani_ and he was settling in for lunch. Porcelain clinked against the cobblestones. Despite himself, Zuko lifted his head so he could glower half-heartedly at whatever the old man was up to now.

Resting on the ground between him and Uncle was a bamboo tray. On top of that was a small red bowl, filled to the brim with what looked like greyish water, faintly steaming. Uncle was already sipping loudly from a separate bowl, pausing only to let out a self-satisfied sigh.

“[Tangyuan](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tangyuan_\(food\)),” he said cheerfully at Zuko’s flat look. “The chef here was kind enough to indulge my humble request for a special treat.”

Zuko… couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted tangyuan. Not since his banishment at least, and even before that, it had been a rare treat. Such delicacies had always been more to his mother’s tastes than his father’s.

“I believe the chef neglected to make the outer rice shell thick enough, however,” Uncle continued, peering into his bowl with a critical eye. “You can see where the black sesame has spilled out and clouded the broth. But of course,” he smiled, “this does not detract from the taste in the slightest.”

Zuko snatched up the second bowl from the tray and ignored Uncle’s knowing look.

“Stop slurping so loudly,” he muttered, poking at the gelatinous balls of rice floating in the bowl with his spoon. “It’s gross.”

The tangyuan he scooped up was more deflated than round, but when he bit into it, the sesame filling inside was just as sweet as he remembered. The rice shell was soft and gooey, and stuck to the backs of his teeth like glue, but he chewed doggedly at it and it went down sweet and smooth. He instinctively dug back into his bowl for more. 

“Do not eat so quickly,” Uncle cautioned, setting his own bowl down on the tray. “Your body is recovering, and you will not be able to handle too much food at once.”

“I know.” Zuko slowly sipped at the broth, then breathed a lick of flame at the surface to heat it. His firebending was weak — a consequence of three harrowing weeks spent floating on a raft in the middle of the arctic ocean — but at least it was still _there_. (That was far more than other Fire Nation soldiers could say.)

The bowl of tangyuan didn’t last long, but Zuko tried to savour it, inhaling the steam and stirring the loose sesame around until the broth was more slurry than water. Uncle was already finished eating, but he stayed sitting lotus-position beneath Agni’s rays, eyes closed and breaths deep and slow in the rhythmic pattern of meditation. He didn’t so much as twitch at the constant clinking of Zuko’s spoon against his bowl, not even to scold him for playing with his food instead of eating it.

Uncle only reacted when Zuko finally, reluctantly, set the clean bowl back in the tray. Even then, his only move was to open his eyes and study Zuko in that unsettling way he did sometimes, as if he was trying to impart some important knowledge upon him and Zuko just wasn’t getting it.

When Uncle spoke, it was a question. “Do you know today’s date, Prince Zuko?”

Zuko blinked. Then he glared at Uncle, viciously, and tried not to let the hurt seep into his voice. “What kind of question is _that?_ ”

Uncle looked taken aback himself, and then his eyes widened. “Nephew, no,” he said urgently, reaching out to touch Zuko’s shoulder before he could stand up and storm away in a huff. His right shoulder, because Zuko still flinched sometimes when people approached too quickly from his blind side. Zuko twitched at the unexpected touch, but grudgingly stayed seated, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Uncle said, bowing his head. “I didn’t think. I was not referring to the anniversary of your banishment, and I would never make light of the hurts you suffered. Forgive me.”

Uncle sounded stricken. He sounded sincere. He always was, whenever it mattered, and especially whenever it came to Zuko. Nothing like Azula’s honeyed lies, and definitely nothing like…

“It’s fine,” Zuko muttered eventually. It wasn’t, not really, and Uncle looked like he wanted to say more. But eventually he just sighed, and gently straightened Zuko’s sleeve before withdrawing. 

“What I meant to say,” Uncle began, tucking his hands into his sleeves, “is that we are approaching the end of the first month.”

“Yeah?” Zuko said, dubiously. “I still don’t see what you…” 

He stopped. Took a second to run the calculations through his head. His usually dependable sun-sense had gotten a bit scrambled after the fiasco at the North Pole, but he soon got his inner calendar caught up.

“The new year’s passed,” Zuko realized.

Uncle nodded. “Around two weeks ago, if I remember correctly. Of course, at the time we were preoccupied with different matters.”

Zuko snorted, sea-vultures circling in his mind’s eye. “No kidding.”

New Year’s was one of the few holidays they’d attempted to commemorate on the _Wani_. Rations and a tight budget had prevented the crew from holding more lavish celebrations, but for those first two weeks of each year, Uncle always organized near-constant music nights to mirror the fifteen days of festivities that took place back home in the Fire Nation. Zuko made a point of hiding in his room when this happened, especially given the holiday’s proximity to the _other_ anniversary. But there had been many fair-weathered nights when he’d drifted off to sleep listening to the faint strumming of Lieutenant Jee’s pipa and Uncle’s warbling tones.

Zuko stared down at his hands, dry and scraped from three chilly weeks adrift at sea. “Today’s the fifteenth of the first month.”

“The last day of the celebrations, yes.” Uncle hummed. “The staff are planning a lavish dinner for tonight. The resort is usually closed today, of course, but they have generously offered to let us stay here overnight, and for as long as we may need in order to recoup.”

No Fire Nation civilian would dare evict two members of the royal family from their establishment, even if said royals consisted only of a banished prince and disgraced former general. Zuko grimaced.

“I don’t want to attend some party. I _need_ to continue my mission. We have no leads, no resources. The Avatar could be anywhere by now.” His fists clenched. “With every day that passes, his power grows. You saw what he did to the naval fleet, Uncle. To all those Fire Nation soldiers.”

It took everything in him to keep his palms from smoking. Uncle only sighed.

“Take care, nephew. When you ride the wild tiger-gator’s back, you may find it difficult to dismount.”

“What does that even _mean?”_

“You must allow yourself time to rest, Prince Zuko. Rest, and heal. You won’t be able to capture the Avatar if you work yourself into an early grave.”

Zuko drew himself up indignantly, but stopped short. Uncle’s face was drawn and grave; he looked dynasties older than his actual age. The expression cleared in an instant when he caught Zuko watching, but not quite quickly enough.

“…I’m still not going to some stupid dinner party,” Zuko said, looking away. Uncle’s hand brushed his right shoulder.

“Then perhaps a quieter event would be more to your tastes. Can you meet me here in the courtyard after sundown? I’d like to show you something that I think you would enjoy.”

* * *

That evening found Zuko in the courtyard once more, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders against the chill and a steaming cup clasped in his hands. The distant ruckus of what had to be a jubilant New Year’s banquet echoed from the staff building beyond the resort walls, but otherwise the night was blissfully quiet. 

The creak of wooden floorboards made Zuko tense and twist around until Uncle came into view. He relaxed, then narrowed his eyes. Uncle was balancing a pile of geometric… _somethings_ in his arms, stacked high on top of one another to the point that they threatened to obscure his sight, but he wasn’t walking like someone carrying a heavy weight. He beamed when he spotted Zuko sitting on the courtyard steps.

“Ah! There you are, nephew,” Uncle called, approaching. He didn’t even mention the box-like objects threatening to spill out of his grip, and only peered hopefully over Zuko’s shoulder into his cup. “Are you finally sampling that lovely blend of longjing that I recommended to you this afternoon?”

“It’s [doujiang](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soy_milk#Names), not tea,” Zuko said, trying to lean away far enough to see exactly what Uncle was holding. “Are those _lanterns?”_

Uncle sat down beside him, and Zuko nearly dropped his cup so he could catch the paper lanterns before they finally tumbled out of Uncle’s arms. He scowled reflexively when Uncle chuckled at his fumbling, but he helped him lay the lanterns out on the cobblestones in front of them, all six of them in a neat little row like soldiers lined up for inspection.

“You may not remember this custom,” Uncle said, nudging the last lantern into place. “You were quite young the last time we celebrated in such a way. Tell me, do you recall anything about lantern riddles?”

“Lantern riddles?” Zuko echoed doubtfully. “I don’t think…”

_…the crinkle of red and gold rice paper. Inkbrush characters he had not yet learned to read, winding their way around sturdy bamboo frames. The twinkle in his mother’s eyes, and a three-year-old Azula laughing, bright for once instead of mocking…_

“—not surprising,” came Uncle’s voice, as Zuko stared at the lanterns before him, awash in the sudden ache of memory. “As I said, it was many years ago, and you were very young.”

Uncle reached forward and plucked one of the lanterns from the lineup. With his other hand, he lit a small, bright flame. He held both hands in the space between him and Zuko, the light of his fire strong enough to illuminate the lantern and their faces, but not close enough to burn. _(Never close enough to burn.)_

Uncle’s face was eerie in the firelight, shadows flickering in the crevices of his skin and the hollows of his eyes. (Zuko could only imagine how his own face looked, staring like some fell spirit out from the darkness.) Nonetheless, his voice was quiet and comforting when he spoke.

“The Lantern Festival is an ancient tradition, spanning thousands of years back. They say that only Wan Shi Tong is learned enough to remember the exact origins of this practice, but it’s commonly believed the Lantern Festival has its roots in the southern regions of the Earth Kingdom… and in the temples of the Air Nomads.”

Zuko gazed into the white of Uncle’s fire until his vision filled with star-sparks and he was forced to look away. “I don’t remember reading anything like this in the air temples.”

“It may have begun with the Air Nomads, but it was not a practice restricted to them.” Uncle’s voice was barely a ripple in the night hush. “There was a time when all four nations would celebrate this holiday, and launch lanterns into the heavens to give thanks to the spirits. The Fire Nation, for instance, would light lanterns in the glory of Agni; the Water Tribes honoured the Moon and Ocean Spirits. So it was that every New Year’s celebration, on the fifteenth day of the first month, you could look up and see a sky so filled with glowing lanterns that one could easily mistake them for the stars themselves.”

A shiver went down Zuko’s spine. “That sounds…” he said hoarsely.

He couldn’t finish the sentence. _Beautiful? Dreamlike? Impossible?_

He shook his head, dispelling the cobwebs. “Have you ever seen such a thing, Uncle?”

Uncle breathed in, and the flame in his hand breathed with him. “No,” he admitted, exhaling. “The tradition ended long before I was born, with the slaughter of the Air Nomads and the start of Sozin’s war.”

“The defeat. The military _defeat_ of the Air Nomads,” Zuko said. But his voice was hollow, a weak, unimpassioned defense of the Fire Nation’s integrity and honour. 

_(Father would be disappointed.)_

Uncle didn’t rise to the bait, but his eyes were sad. They sat silently and breathed together, watching the flame grow and ebb, until Uncle spoke again.

“The Lantern Festival hasn’t been an official holiday in the Fire Nation since Roku’s era. But it was my father, Fire Lord Azulon, who finally outlawed it in all Fire Nation territories; you would’ve been around five at the time. The risk of festival lanterns being mistaken for military-sent signals was too great, and such interference with aerial communication could have serious consequences on troop movements.”

 _But was it really just for militaristic reasons,_ Zuko didn’t say. To give voice to such thoughts would be treason, and both he and Uncle knew too well the price that traitors paid.

“If it’s been outlawed, should we be doing this?” Zuko asked, staring uneasily at the small paper lantern that Uncle held. 

In response, Uncle gently pushed the lantern into Zuko’s arms. His hands came up to cradle it automatically. It was so light, as weightless as air in his hands, but as he wrapped his fingers around it, the bony, paper-covered frame proved to be far sturdier than it looked.

“The launching of unlicensed lanterns may be illegal in the Fire Nation, but the law says nothing about Earth Kingdom colonies,” Uncle said, eyes twinkling just as brightly as the memory of his mother’s. “I bought these from the market in town for an excellent price.”

Uncle picked up a second lantern and swept a flame-tipped finger near the base. Zuko mimicked the movement with a slightly wobbly flame of his own, and spotted tiny characters written around the edges of the lantern.

“Now, this is the second tradition of the Lantern Festival, and my personal favourite,” Uncle said cheerfully, following Zuko’s gaze. He nodded at Zuko’s lantern. “Lantern riddles. Every lantern has a riddle written on the surface, and you must answer the riddle before you can launch your lantern.”

Zuko groaned. “More proverbs? Really, Uncle?”

Uncle made a moue of disappointment. It was a ridiculous expression, on him especially. “Come now, Prince Zuko. That’s hardly a sporting attitude. Here, why don't I read you the riddle on my lantern, and you can read me yours.”

He held up the lantern with an exaggerated flourish, like a scribe presenting an officially signed court order instead of a cheap paper lantern. Zuko’s lips twitched upwards, despite himself.

“Ah, this is a good one.” Uncle cleared his throat and began. “ _This lovely maiden eats no meat, but eats leaves. She is a gifted artisan, and each day, she spins and weaves for the benefit of others. Who is she?_ ”

 _Oh, why not._ Zuko sighed internally, furrowed his brows, and thought. It only took a few moments for the answer to come to him. “A silkworm.”

Uncle beamed. “Correct! Excellent reasoning, nephew.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, but his traitorous mouth kept wanting to smile. “Shut up,” he grumbled, without any heat. He twitched a finger to illuminate his own lantern and the riddle inscribed upon it.

“ _What belongs to you, and yet is more often used by others?_ ”

Uncle stroked his beard. “I believe the answer is ‘your name’.”

Zuko spun the lantern ‘round to check. “Huh, you’re right. That’s kind of clever.”

“I am so fortunate to have a nephew who values good wordplay as much as I do.”

They went through the lanterns one by one. Some of the riddles were cheesy; others required more concentrated thought. At one point, Uncle started to ask, “ _What has been around for millions of years, but is no more than a month old?_ ”, but he cut himself off before he could finish, setting the lantern aside with a muttered, “perhaps not the best choice of riddle, considering.”

Soon, Zuko found himself with three red lanterns in his lap, while Uncle had the other three. The night was drawing on; clouds covered the moon. Zuko traced the lion turtle design on one lantern, a strange reluctance to face the morning sinking deep in his bones. 

“And now,” Uncle said gently, perhaps sensing Zuko’s hesitance, “we let them go.”

With a deft flick, he set the wick at the base of one lantern alight. Uncle raised the lantern above his head and let go, and up it floated, higher and higher, until it was barely a tiny red speck like a glowworm-fly against the darkness. 

Zuko breathed life into a lantern of his own and allowed it to slip through his fingers. Uncle was a reassuringly steady presence beside him as Zuko watched the lantern disappear into the night. And if Zuko slowly sunk into his uncle’s side and rested his heavy head on his shoulder in a manner thoroughly unbefitting of a Fire Nation prince, no one else was around to notice.

Uncle gently brushed back Zuko’s unbound hair. “There are some who say that letting go of a lantern allows you to let go of your past self. A fresh start for a fresh year.”

Zuko buried his face in the folds of Uncle’s robes, like he was seven again and sleepy, or thirteen again and feverish with infection. Or sixteen years old and stranded in a foreign land, sick with grief and longing. 

_A fresh start._ What he wouldn’t give for a chance to do it all over again, differently. Zuko shut his eyes and breathed in the scent of ginseng tea. “Yeah, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some definitions:
> 
> Tangyuan - gelatinous rice balls, usually with a nut/black sesame filling, that is served with clear broth. This dish is traditionally consumed around the New Year's. The name translates literally to "soup balls". They are v. tasty.
> 
> Doujiang - soy milk. In my experience, this is a hot drink, but it could be different for others depending on the dish. My grandparents used to serve me this hot bean liquid that they called "doujiang", but according to my mom, their particular recipe is some weird conglomeration of leftover congee and bean paste that bears no resemblance to actual doujiang at all, so...
> 
> [Lantern Festival](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lantern_Festival) \- Celebrated on the fifteenth day of the first month in the Chinese calendar (corresponding to around February/March on the Gregorian calendar). The Lantern Festival marks the last day of New Year's celebrations in China. Lantern riddles are a real thing, though they usually involve a lot more punnery and wordplay based off traditional Chinese sayings; I did my best to convey similar sentiments in English. The riddles in this fic were taken from [this](https://www.theepochtimes.com/8-lantern-riddles-to-celebrate-the-chinese-lantern-festival_1271134.html) site; they've been translated to English, but according to Local Sources (aka my Chinese parents), they are representative of real Chinese riddles. 
> 
> Iroh's proverb about the tiger-gator is a real Chinese proverb, _qí hǔ nán xià_ (when on a tiger's back, it is hard to dismount). I, uh. tried to communicate what I thought to be its message, but honestly I'm as bad as Zuko when it comes to interpreting proverbs. Hopefully it makes at least some sense?
> 
> I think I've covered everything, but it's 4:30 a.m. and I'm a little incoherent so I'm just going to go to bed now regardless. Please don't hesitate to ask questions if you want me to clarify/define something - I'll be more than happy to answer. 
> 
> My ATLA blog is @elimentals on tumblr, where you can find me going feral over ATLA.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Happy holidays and 新年快乐. <3
> 
> \- Li
> 
> edit: I just realized I didn't provide an answer for that final riddle, "What has been around for millions of years, but is no more than a month old?" The answer might be easy, but feel free to answer in the comments.


	2. the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...The whole crew was wide awake, awaiting the dawn of the new year down in the mess hall._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be posting a double drabble from today till New Year’s based off this fic. Each chapter will be new year’s-related, and will follow the timeline of past, present, and future.
> 
> 2020 countdown, commence! ;)

_“Jasmine flower, oh so fair,  
Fragrant, budding here and there...” _

Zuko growled and stuffed a pillow over his head, to no avail. Uncle’s jovial (and _painfully_ off-key, how in spirits’ name were he and Zuko even _related)_ singing reached his ears all too easily, even though it was some Koh-forsaken hour of the night when all _reasonable_ people would ordinarily be sound asleep. 

_“Let me pluck with tender care  
Your sweet blooms for my love to share…” _

But of course, the whole crew was wide awake, awaiting the dawn of the new year down in the mess hall. Waiting _extremely loudly_ , at that. Zuko may have sailed aboard the _Wani_ for close to a year now, but he had never fully appreciated until tonight just how far sound could carry past the reverberating walls of a metal ship.

_“Jasmine flower, jasmine fair...”_

Zuko plugged his ears and curled up in a pyjama’d ball of grump on his futon. And if he dreamed of chasing Uncle around with a tsungi horn, instead of his usual nightmares of cold eyes and burnt flesh... well. He _still_ wasn’t going to let himself be dragged off to music night, no matter what Uncle said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies to anyone who guesses the song I’m referencing here. (But also for credit’s sake, I got the lyrics from [here](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/%E8%8C%89%E8%8E%89%E8%8A%B1-molihua-jasmine-flower.html).)
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	3. the present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Azula's hands were small and soft between his own._

Azula's hands were small and soft between his own. The same fists that punched blue-tinged fireballs with such ease still had skin as soft as a silkworm's thread, unroughened by labour. Not like Zuko's hands, already calloused from play-fighting with wooden swords and rough-housing in the palace gardens. 

"You got this, 'zula," he encouraged, steadying her wrists. Through the contact, he could feel the heat begin to gather in her palms. The wick at the base of her lantern sputtered and began to smoke.

She gasped, then burst into delighted giggles. "Zuzu!" she said, holding the lantern up high. "Look! I lit it up!"

Zuko beamed. Standing behind him, a hand on his shoulder, their mother laughed like the musical plucking of zither strings. 

"Well done, my little sparrow-fly," she said fondly. "Here, Zuko. You can try this one next."

Zuko turned, smiling, towards his mother, but it wasn't her who held the golden-edged lantern out toward him. Gone was the garden; a shadow loomed over him, and Zuko was kneeling on the cold stone floor with pleas on his tongue and tears in his eyes as the lantern he still held crushed against his chest burst into blinding, scalding, _screaming_ flame— 

Zuko exploded upright with a half-choked cry on his lips. In an instant Uncle was on his feet, taking in the starry night sky and deserted dirt roadside beside them with one swift glance. He relaxed, lowering his hands. Zuko wished he could untense just as easily, if only he could get his _stupid_ brain to shut up and realize there was _no danger here—_

A hand on his chest, soothing the phantom burns. "Nephew. Breathe with me."

Later, as their stolen ostrich-horse nibbled comfortingly at Zuko's short-shorn hair and Uncle brewed a pot of tea over the nascent campfire, Zuko said, lowly, "I don't want to talk about it."

Uncle only _hmm_ ed. "Now, I have not tried this particular blend of pu'er cha for an age. Have a drink, Zuko, and let me know what you think of it."

Zuko curled his fingers around the tin cup that Uncle passed to him. He drank it down cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the double-drabble thing failed because this is more like 360 words... but oh well. :P
> 
> Full credit goes to Muffinlance and her wonderful stories as inspiration for the ostrich-horse-preening-Zuko's-hair moment. 
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	4. the future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ready?”_
> 
> _Aang exhaled, the force of it ruffling the heavy folds of Zuko’s robes. “Ready.”_

“Ready?”

Aang exhaled, the force of it ruffling the heavy folds of Zuko’s robes. “Ready.”

Zuko stepped forward with the red lantern held out in front of him, and blew a delicate flame into the center. Simultaneously, Aang pushed his own orange lantern forward with a burst of airbending, sending it spinning in intricate shapes over the edge of the cliff. Just like Sokka had promised, whatever newly-discovered gas he had pumped into the inflated sides of the lantern kept it afloat in the air, even without a flame or other visible source of propulsion.

Zuko backed up to watch, and Aang raised a hand and made a fluid, beckoning motion, as though combing his fingers through long hair. Silver ribbons of wind leapt from his hands to the two lanterns, and they circled each other, two planets caught in orbit, until Aang slowly lowered his hand and gave them up to the night.

It took only moments for the lanterns to vanish into the low-hanging clouds.

The young monk was uncharacteristically silent. Zuko chanced a glance over, only to see tears running soundlessly down Aang’s face.

Tentatively, Zuko hovered a hand over Aang’s shoulder, then gave him an awkward pat. In turn, Aang leaned into Zuko’s side with unselfconscious ease and hugged him, burying his face in Zuko’s ceremonial robes.

“Thank you, Zuko,” Aang mumbled. “I haven’t done this since—since—” He drew in a shaky breath. “...thank you.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” Zuko said quietly, wrapping his arms around Aang’s skinny shoulders. “Uncle taught me what he could, but all he really had were stories of the old days. But...” Zuko hesitated, then took the plunge, “I was hoping I could ask for your help with stuff like this. Reintroducing traditional holidays, cultural events and the like, to the people.” He closed his eyes, imagining a sky of manmade stars. “Organizing an official Lantern Festival for the next year.”

Aang pulled back, and while his cheeks were still wet, he was smiling. “I’d like that,” he murmured, and hugged Zuko again. “I’d really like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2020. ❤️ Thank you all for reading.


End file.
